


A Feast for the Soul

by ForevermoreNevermore



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal - Fandom
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Insanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:42:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForevermoreNevermore/pseuds/ForevermoreNevermore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will wakes up, on average, five times a day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Feast for the Soul

Will dreams in technicolor and every shade of gray. He's tying up and being tied up, wincing in as much pain as he's causing. His thoughts aren't his own but are, on their own, horribly reflective.

He wakes up in his own sweat, letting a low keen rattle his clenched teeth. A dog whines at the foot of his bed. It's all very normal, then he sees it in the corner through the fog of his own breath. Huge, horned, and snorting in a near derisive manner just a moment before he wakes up again, drenched in perspiration.

The shower he takes is hot enough to burn, but it keeps his eyes open long enough to drink a cup of coffee blacker than pitch.

Then there's Hannibal, tossing a bounty with blue eyes onto the table like it were a dead turkey. It rattles the porcelain of his cereal bowl and lets out one last plea.

"Help me," says the man.

"Let us feast," says Hannibal.

Will wakes swimming, and goes about his day like a zombie. He talks when spoken to, and grunts out answers. He tells the class all they could need to know and yet possibly nothing at the exact same time. He's not sure. It was one of those nights. 

He slums around the crime scene, taking long blinks in attempt to clear the fog he was beginning to think was actually grafted to his corneas. 

"Really Will, you should sleep." And if Will had heard a more common sense thing said aloud, he didn't say so. 

He sees it all, the kicking down of the door, the cries of a child in the next room over; easily disposed. The knife was that of a hunter's, long and thick, begging for long strokes that cause bleeding out. He hears the cries; a name pops into his mind as he goes for a man standing there in a cop suit (which he doesn't really think is right because the family was of doctors), a wife calls "no Will!" and there's blood flowing over his hand and oozing into the cracks of his dry hands. It plopped wetly over his forearm and there was no new knowledge coming to mind; just a blinding white noise that tunneled his vision down to one glaringly obvious fact.

Will sometimes wakes up a total of five times before he's finally in the real world. Today, three was his limit. 


End file.
